Narcissism
by Cattypatra
Summary: Sora was more twisted than anyone could imagine... And really, it was surprisingly easy to rape yourself... SoraxAntiSora, SoraxRoxas, RikuxSora, RoxasxAntiSora.


Okay, this is just an idea that's been swimming around in my head for a while now, it's a bit obscure, but I do like the way that it turned out. It's very… abstract. Yes, that's the word.

Anyway, rated M for mentions of sex. Nothing graphic, just the mention.

And there are a lot of pairings…

aaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Anti Sora had never taken Sora over when he didn't want him too. Anti Sora was more like a guardian than anything else.

Whenever Sora gave up, lost his light, then Anti Sora was always there. Always patient, always willing to fight for a little while, to share the blood and the pain and the screams and the rendered bone. Yes, Anti Sora knew it well, but never as much as the real Sora did.

After all, Anti Sora wasn't _real_.

He was a mixture of Sora's feelings, hopes, dreams, and nightmares. Anything that the other boy ever felt was converted into stitches in his gloves, the spikes in his black hair. Everything was twisted and turned inside out to make Anti Sora more powerful, more painful, more _pitiful_. Because Anti Sora was just a reflection of the real Sora, a reflection with harsh yellow eyes and no vocal cords. A heartless that couldn't scream.

And so when Sora needed him, Anti Sora couldn't say no.

Couldn't refuse the trembling, wandering hands or the hot breath that shaked. Shaked with something Anti Sora would never understand, shook with the unadulterated _need _for Riku.

Anti Sora let himself be pushed back against the wall of the gummi ship, his mouth plundered and his darkness stripped away from his body, because he couldn't say anything against it.

Because something that was never real could never stand up to the haunted blue eyes that were always searching for something within its own darkness.

And yet, Anti Sora knew he could never be Riku. Could never be Riku for the broken boy who cried when he was happy.

Could never be the one to quench the light's undeniable thirst.

Then there was Roxas.

Roxas, as insubstantial as Anti Sora, but at least Roxas had the ability to speak. But did he use it? Of course not.

Roxas never said what he meant to, wanted to, _needed to._ When all he had ever desired was the feel of fire against his skin, he had remained silent as the only thing that had ever thought about him recoiled in shock, but more importantly, in sadness.

Sometimes, Anti Sora would laugh at Roxas, and sometimes, Roxas would laugh at Anti Sora. So twisted in their reflections of a boy who was supposed to be the light. But, if Sora was so light, then why did he have so many shadows? So many shadows without names and staring eyes?

Anti Sora could never understand. Roxas could. But that didn't make them any more real.

Nothing could make them anymore real.

Except maybe Sora.

Roxas felt real when he was with Sora, when he was _in _him. Sora could have both, the receptive Anti Sora, or the distraught Roxas. And he did often have them both.

It was like pillaging himself, and desecrating all the things that were holy in an attempt to feel anything. He was so empty, that he needed his other's screams and moans to distract him from the fact that Riku wasn't there.

Roxas and Anti Sora didn't mind, they couldn't say anything, words with either no meaning or staring eyes with all too much. They let themselves be mangled and manipulated, until they couldn't see who was who, where Sora ended and where Sora began.

Then the biggest betrayal of all.

Sora found his Riku.

Found his darkness, and lost it too. Let himself be immersed in the older boy's shining silver hair, let his fingernails rake against his body in ways that Roxas and Anti Sora never could.

He left them.

Alone.

Hungry.

And just the way that he had been.

His demented guardian angels who dreamed of having seizures and tanned flesh. Nobodies and heartless that couldn't forget the sleepless nights, the pain and the way that Sora had _needed _them.

They stood, and they watched, and they waited. They slowly started to perish compared to Riku's equally hollow eyes. Would Sora ever have a use for them again? Would Anti Sora need to burst forth and keep the enemy at bay so Sora could catch a fleeting moment of rest? Would Roxas ever be able to tell him to stand up straighter, or lift his hips just that little bit more?

It didn't seem like it.

After all, Sora had never needed anything more than Riku.

Roxas and Anti Sora turned inwards, let their non existent bodies meld. But it wasn't enough, they were just a tired, lonely reflection that peeked out of Sora's eyes when he looked in the mirror, straightening the new shirt Riku had gotten him.

They kissed and tried to desperately to feel again, a heartless and a nobody caught in a dead man's dance.

Sora had caught them one day, when they were hunched over each other, gasping, and all he had done was laugh.

He didn't need his shattered reflection, didn't need the artificial touch of someone who couldn't cry. He didn't need anything. And the others needed too much.

And that broke them. Broke them down so much, that they both shed a tear. An insignificant tear… Sora screamed.

After all…

If you could cry…

Didn't that mean that you had something? That you existed?

That Sora's nightmare had come true? Every nightmare was Anti Sora, every dream was Roxas, every thought was Riku.

And they were all just trailing after him. Shadows curling around his wrists and his eyes.

Maybe Sora was the one that wasn't real.

Maybe they were all just fakes.

Fakes that were in love with themselves.

aaaaaaaaaaa

So, what did you guys think?

Not your average fic, huh? I actually like the way that it came out, a little confusing though.

Please review?


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